


Out of his hands

by travellerintime



Category: Supernatural
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-01-12
Updated: 2013-01-12
Packaged: 2017-11-25 04:03:17
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,373
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/634917
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/travellerintime/pseuds/travellerintime
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Dean’s hand finds its way under the waistband of Sam’s boxers and Sam chokes on a ‘please’ and gasps for breath. He’s hard and hot and sticky wet under Dean’s hand and it’s everything Dean’s ever wanted. The air around Dean smells only of Sam, musk and soap and sex. He circles his fingers and strokes once, twice and Sam’s back arches, his feet pushes down into the mattress and be bites down on Dean’s skin and for a moment Dean thinks he’s going to die but holy fuck what a way to go.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Out of his hands

-SAM!

Dean can feel the impact of his fist against the bathroom door as it reverberates through his arm and up to his shoulder.

-SAM! I'm not joking. You open this door or I swear I will kick the mother fucker down!

Sam huffs out a laugh from the other side of the obnoxiously green door.

-Don't be a drama queen Dean, just go to bed and leave me alone.

Dean takes a breath. He’s been at it for almost fifteen minutes now and this is not working, it's just pissing Sam off more. But the thing is, Dean’s tired too and his patience is reaching its limit with increasing speed. He thought he could do this but now he’s thinking that maybe his confidence in his ability to look after Sam was misplaced.

If he closes his eyes Dean can still hear the sickening sound of Sam’s bones snapping, breaking, getting crushed by that old metal door slamming shut right over Sam’s hands as he was trying to make sure it wouldn't be able to lock them in. They were too late, Dean was too late, the evil son of a bitch was already there. None of them got any kind of warning.

Sam was stuck for way too long; until Dean was able to finish the job. By that time Sam screams had gone quiet and he’d passed out, hanging from the door only by his hands. The smell of blood in the car overwhelming by the time they reached the hospital.

'Massive blood loss, two fingers crushed and a broken thumb on his left hand, three broken fingers and a broken wrist on his right' the doctor informed Dean as they rolled Sam out of surgery. 'He's also torn a few tendons and muscles in his shoulders'.

Later Dean was so sure of himself, maybe too sure he muses now, as he smiled and said 'No problem Doc, of course I can look after him. Fed him and wiped his nose for the major part of his childhood, it's like second nature'. Ignoring the daggers Sam was staring at him through his morphine induced high as Dean patted him on his legs through the thin hospital blanket.

The dressing and undressing came easy, they do that often enough anyway, it didn't feel as a big deal to any of them. The food became slightly more difficult since Sam refused to let Dean feed him but he solved that with straws and food that came in bits and pieces easily picked up by using only your mouth. It was the other stuff, the stuff Dean never really thought of that became the big challenge. Dean had no problem giving Sam showers and wiping his ass, it had to be done and to Dean it was no big deal, he almost enjoyed it, having excuses to touch his brother again, taking care of him, but he hadn't accounted for the level of embarrassment and humiliation, the loss of pride on Sam's part. Within days Sam got quiet, angry, almost venomous in his words. Fighting Dean every step of the way which pissed Dean off to no end. About a week ago Sam started refusing the showers and a week before that he stopped using the bathroom until he was so constipated he was doubled over in pain and Dean had to drive to a night open pharmacy for laxatives. Stubborn bastard.

Three weeks in and they're hardly talking to each other anymore beyond insults and bitchy comebacks which makes the fact that Sam still needs Dean for practically everything all the more awkward.

-Sam please. Dean tries with his hand flat against the door

-Go away Dean.

-At least tell me why you’re in there having a fucking bitch fit.

-Go.Away!

Sam’s nightmares started a few days after they left the hospital. Not every night but often enough his whimpers would stir Dean awake. He never let Dean help, pushed him away when Dean tried to calm him, told him to go back to sleep, to go away, so in the end Dean just stopped trying. He left Sam alone with whatever it was that haunted his mind at night and resigned himself to the fact that this particular ghost wasn’t one he would be able to hunt down and kill. Until tonight.

It started with the same whimpers and broken moans it always did but this time it escalated and it escalated fast. By the time Dean had tangled himself out of his own sheets and was standing by Sam’s bed Sam had his face pressed down into his pillow, just repeating ‘no no no no’ over and over in this heartbroken voice that Dean hadn’t heard him use in years. Not since Rhode Island when Sam’s hopes of being saved came crashing down thanks to the ghost of Father Gregory and his vigilante stunt. Dean never saw the foot coming until it hit him square in the chest and had him sprawled on his back on the floor in the blink of an eye. By the time Dean got back on his feet Sam’s bed was empty and the bathroom door was locked from the inside.

-Then at least tell me what the nightmare was about.

-Yeah right. ‘Nightmare’.

Sam voice is cold as ice and dripping sarcasm on the word nightmare, sounding very much like another version of Sam, one that makes the hairs on Dean’s neck stand up and his bones cold.

He repeats Sam’s words to himself a few times ‘cause he can’t really make sense of the tone of his voice ‘Yeah right. Nightmare’. It’s late and Dean’s tired and his brain catches up slow but when it does… It’s not nightmares.

-Oh… OH!

It was those kind of dreams.

Sam seems to be able to sense where Dean’s head’s at, maybe he could hear the penny drop because he starts shouting NO!s and Don’ts and I’ll fucking kill yous through the closed door but Dean’s already by Sam’s bed yanking the blankets off.

Sam has gone quiet when Dean makes his way back to the bathroom door. He feels stupid now. So stupid for not thinking, for not anticipating this and he feels horrible for making things more difficult than they had to be. Dean might be an idiot but he doesn’t think he’s a mean person, at least he tries not to be, he doesn’t wanna be, especially not towards Sam. Dean sinks down with his back against the door, head tilted up looking at the ceiling.

-Sam? I’m sorry okay. I wasn’t thinking…

-Oh God! Just shut up Dean!

-No, just… just hear me out okay. It’s nothing to be embarrassed about…

-If you tell me it happens to everyone I will shot you with your own gun. Sam groans.

-No, but seriously, it does and I mean… it’s okay.

-Maybe it does, Sam’s voice raises a notch

-but as far as I know people usually don’t have to ask their brother to clean them up afterwards!

And that’s when the big picture hits Dean. He’s not just gonna have to change the come stained sheets, he’s gonna have to clean Sam off too. And that’s the first time since this whole cluster fuck started that Dean actually blushes.

-Okay Sam, listen to me, you’re gonna have to open this door at some point and now I know so just open up and let me help you. It’s no big deal, I have seen come in a guy’s shorts before you know.

-Yeah your own. Not the same thing Dean Not.Thesame.Thing!

Dean gets up on his feet and leans his forehead against the door in a futile attempt to get closer to his panicking brother on the other side. Part of him doesn’t wanna admit to what he knows he’s about to admit but he figures he’s in no position to complain about embarrassment and lost pride here and he knows it will take some of the heat off Sam so he swallows and takes a deep breath. Here goes nothing.

-Well… Maybe not just my own. I might have, you know been with one or two guys at some point

-What?

-I said that I might have…

The lock clicks a second before the door flies open.

-I heard what you said Dean. WHAT!?

He’s shivering. He’s been in there for half an hour in nothing but his sticky boxers and a too small towel loosely hanging around his shoulders. Dean puts his foot across the threshold to stop Sam from locking him out again which, he admits to himself is kind of an unnecessary move since Sam’s not quick or strong enough with his feet to manage to do that when Dean’s this close but it’s more of an instinct than any kind of planned action. Dean has to give it to Sam though; Sam’s gotten good with his feet. He can pick things up, he can turn the lights on and off, he can even close the zipper on his duffel if he’s not wearing socks and apparently, he can lock bathroom doors.

Sam is staring at Dean, bandaged arms held out at his sides looking completely shocked. The mess that’s his underwear temporarily forgotten so Dean decides to take a chance.

-It’s no big deal Sam, it’s just sex, no need to look like that. Let’s get you out of those boxers and into the shower huh, whadda ‘ya say?

Dean pushes passed Sam into the small bathroom, reaching into the shower and turning the water on before turning back to Sam.

-You’re gay!? Dean, why the fuck…

-No you idiot, I’m not gay. Just because I sometimes like to change things up a bit doesn’t mean I’m gay.

Dean kneels down to pull Sam boxers down and he steps obediently out of them, his mind someplace else completely. This worked even better than Dean had expected.

-But…

-No buts Sam, pun intended, now get in the shower you oversized baby so I can clean you off and get you back to bed.

Dean tries to sound as confident as he can, nonchalant even and he thinks he pulls it off quite well. The truth is though that at the moment his nerves feel like they are wired wrong, like an electrical net of over sensitized threads on his skin. Unprotected.

So far during these weeks he’s managed to stay clear of putting his hands on Sam’s dick. He always made sure that the motels they picked had a bathtub so he could fill it up with soapy water, let Sam soak for a bit and then rinse him off. He’d washed his armpits, his face and even his ass but he’s been trying really hard not to put his hands anywhere near his dick. Maybe he’s being ridiculous, maybe it shouldn’t be such a big deal and it probably wouldn’t be if it weren’t for how much Dean wanted to do just that. The shame and guilt enough to avoid it like the plague.

This time he won’t be able to do that. Sam’s come is dried and stuck like glue to dark curly hairs and Dean will have to use his hands and a lot of soap to get it out. Sam’s standing there in the shower, arms stretched out to his sides to avoid getting the bandages wet, looking like a naked messiah and hotter than the sun with his hair plastered to his face and water running down his toned body, finding every grove between muscles, every vertical line of his body. Dean swallows around the lump in his throat and thanks whatever higher power that’s responsible for the fact that he thought to put his jeans on.

Sam’s quiet but his eyes never wavers from Dean’s face, looking at him like he’s some sort of clue, a riddle to be solved before the gates can open and Dean can feel the color rise on his cheeks as he starts to rub the soap in. He tries to be as impersonal as he can and maybe he’s overdoing it a little, maybe he’s a little bit rougher than he means to be because Sam hisses and twitches away.

-M’sorry. Dean mumbles and he hopes the increasing redness of his face passes for a reaction to the warm steam from the shower.

He relaxes his hands a little, trying to be gentle but it’s hard to find a balance when all he really wants to do is caress, to touch, to worship. He’s got his reoccurring wet dream in the palm of his hand, literally, and he has to hold back. In spite of forty years in hell Dean thinks this is the most exquisite torture he’s ever been subjected to. God if Sam would just stop staring at him like that. He feels too exposed, beyond naked and he can feel himself starting to squirm under the scrutiny.

-How many. Sam says then. Voice raspy and low with a hint of anger and Dean can’t really make sense of that tone of voice so he ignores it.

-Dunno, six… seven maybe… Not many.

One, two beats of silence and then Dean can feel Sam slowly hardening under his hands, it’s not much but it’s in all the wrong places

-Tell me about them. Sam’s voice is no more than a whisper now, Dean almost doesn’t hear him over the spray of water hitting the bathtub but he does hear. Dean busies himself with turning off the water and reaching for a towel, holding it up so Sam can just step right in, making it his number one priority not to look at Sam below his waist.

-Don’t be weird Sam. Besides you know me, I never kiss and tell.

-Bullshit! You always kiss and tell.

-Maybe I do but I won’t this time. Now turn around so I can dry your back.

Sam goes back to being silent while Dean towels him off and gets him in a pair of boxers and a t-shirt, leaving him on the couch while he goes to get some clean sheets for Sam’s bed, though he keeps his eyes on Dean like he’s still trying to solve that puzzle.

-As good as new. Dean says with a smile once he’s done and holds up a corner of the covers.  
-Hop right in Sammy, time for bed.

Sam holds his arms out so Dean can tuck the covers around his chest and lays them down carefully over his stomach.

-Thank you. It’s not much more than an exhale

-Think nothing of it. Get some rest.

Sam looks up at him and smiles and Dean can see a shadow lifting from his eyes. Like he finally managed to straighten out that question mark that’s been hanging over his head for the last half hour. Dean doesn’t even pretend to know what’s going on in Sam’s head. Every time he’s tried to figure Sam out he just ends up confusing himself so he settles for ruffling his hair instead.

-‘Night Sammy.

Once Sam’s breathing has evened out Dean is left with his own thoughts. He thinks about the other men, the ones on their knees in funny smelling bathroom stalls, his hands tangled up in their long brown mops of hair, and the ones who he’d bent over for in shady ‘rent by the hour’ motel rooms who he never really cared what they looked like as long as their hands were big and strong enough. He never kissed any of them, he never let them in his car and he never asked for their names. Now he’s kinda wondering who they were. Maybe they were someone else’s little brother. Dean never thought to ask.

After that night it’s like something shifted. Sam doesn’t argue as much anymore, he’s compliant but not in a detached or depressed kind of way but more like he’s gratefully accepting Dean’s help. Dean doesn’t know what changed, he can’t really see a logical reason for it but he’s not gonna look a gift horse in the mouth here so he doesn’t bring it up. He rationalizes it thinking it’s probably the release of some sexual frustration that got Sam in a better mood. Dean of course realizes that if he’s right this good mood of Sam’s won’t last. The tension is going to build up again fairly quick since Sam won’t be able to take matters into his own hands for a good few weeks more. Dean suggests a prostitute which just puts Sam right back into bitch mode so he only does it once. 

The staring is somewhat unnerving though. He can feel Sam’s eyes on him, two hot spots on his back every time he turns away. Sam’s eyes are following him around, peaking at him over book covers and glancing sideways when he thinks Dean’s to busy driving to notice. Dean has no idea what Sam’s looking at so he doesn’t know what to hide and that is a very uncomfortable situation to be in for someone with as much to hide as Dean

-Tell me about them. Sam says from his cocoon of blankets.

Dean takes his eyes away from the sitcom he’s watching and looks over at his brother. Slanted eyes peering at him from behind too long hair. Dean thinks he really needs remember to cut it for him soon.

-Huh?

-Tell me about them, the other guys.

Dean can feel something warm stirring deep in his soul, something that feels suspiciously like hope at Sam’s phrasing. “Other” guys. That’s a weird thing to say when there isn’t a Guy with capital G to begin with.

-Not much to say, they were just guys, just you know ordinary…guys.

-Have I met any of them?

-No, no you haven’t

Sam can tell it’s a lie, Dean can hear it in the silence that fills the air between them and he’s so very thankful when Sam decides not to call him out for it because if Sam knew who, Dean’s afraid he would pick up on the pattern.

-Did you take them out? Like on dates and stuff?

And there it is again. That small voice of Sam’s, insecure and full of an unspoken apology.

-No I didn’t.

-So it was just bathrooms and alleys?

-Pretty much.

-And the car?

\- No Sam, not the car. Never the car. Not once.

Dean doesn’t really know why it feels so important to him that Sam knows that, that Sam believes him but it does.

-Why?

-I don’t know. I didn’t want them there, they didn’t belong…

Sam nods slowly from his nest of blankets but doesn’t say anything else and Dean goes back to watching TV. He tries to get back into the story, laughing in the right places but it’s hard. The air feels different now, thicker, it’s hard to breathe and Dean feels out of focus. It feels like something is lurking around the bend, just out of sight, in the corner of his eye but every time he turns to look there’s nothing. He looks over at Sam, he’s got his eyes closed, lips parted just a little bit and he’s well on his way to sleep. His face relaxed, one side pressed down into his pillow and Dean can’t help the little smile that’s tugging at his lips. Sam doesn’t see him anyway so he gives himself permission to indulge for a moment, letting his eyes sweep over his brothers features a few times before he turns the TV off and rolls over on his side on the bed, facing Sam. Dean’s asleep before he even remembers to get under the covers.

When he wakes up a few hours later he’s shivering. He reaches for the blanket at the end of the bed when Sam stirs and catches Dean’s attention. Sam’s got his head tilted back on his pillow, his chin pointing up and his mouth open, exposing his neck like a girl in a vampire movie and his breathing is picking up speed and creating small whining noises deep in his throat. Dean almost falls out of bed. For a moment he’s lost. He doesn’t know what to do, how to make this stop without embarrassing Sam yet again. If he wakes him up now Sam’s probably gonna be hard and a little bit pissed off but if he doesn’t they may very well find themselves in a similar situation to the one last week. He goes for the lesser of the two evils.

-Sam. Sammy. Dean carefully shakes Sam’s legs.  
-You’re dreaming dude, c’mon wake up.

Sam licks his lips and slowly opens his eyes, looking straight up at Dean. His eyes are glazed over and his pupils blown wide, a hint of pink coloring his cheeks and he looks absolutely debauched, like honey and cream and sin personified and Dean’s voice gets caught in his throat.

-Dean… It’s almost more a choked of whimper than a name but Dean nods and clears his throat.

-Yeah… yeah Sam. You were… ehm… you were dreaming again, thought I’d wake you so… you know… you don’t…

Sam nods, licks his lips but doesn’t take his eyes off Dean. He’s holding Dean’s gaze, almost like a challenge and in that moment Dean knows. It all falls in to place. The odd tone in Sam’s voice sometimes, the out of the blue questions, the compliancy, it all makes sense. He knows what Sam’s been looking at this past week and he knows what’s coming, he can see it in every little movement in Sam’s face and he starts to shake his head.

-No, no Sam… Sammy…oh god

He knows he’s whimpering but he can’t help it

Sam uses his feet to slowly kick his covers off, leaving them in a rumpled pile at the foot of the bed and his body exposed, boxers tenting obscenely and his hips moving in barely noticeable circles like he wants nothing more than to move but trying not to.

-Help me. He whispers. Dean please help me… can’t take it, I need… I can’t… I want… you.

It’s doing Dean’s head in. He can’t think. He’s been so strong for so long but this is too much. Sam is begging, pleading for something he is dying to give so he breaks. He wraps his arms around his brother, sitting him up and easing in behind him, letting Sam fall back against him, back to chest.

-Shhh, I gottcha, Sammy, s’gonna be okay. His voice feels foreign in his mouth, like he’s begging too, but he’s not sure what he’s begging for. Maybe he’s praying.

He leans Sam’s head back on his shoulder as he lets his other hand travel down the tight skin of Sam’s chest, slick with a thin layer of sweat, mapping out the hills and valleys of his abs with the tips of his fingers. Sam turns his head, open lips against the thin skin on Dean’s neck, panting wet streams of hot air.

-Please…

-Shhh, s’okay…

Dean’s hand finds its way under the waistband of Sam’s boxers and Sam chokes on a ‘please’ and gasps for breath. He’s hard and hot and sticky wet under Dean’s hand and it’s everything Dean’s ever wanted. The air around Dean smells only of Sam, musk and soap and sex. He circles his fingers and strokes once, twice and Sam’s back arches, his feet pushes down into the mattress and be bites down on Dean’s skin and for a moment Dean thinks he’s going to die but holy fuck what a way to go.

He snakes his free arm between them and eases his own dick out of its confined space in his underwear, letting it press up against Sam’s back and if that isn’t that the best idea he’s ever had he doesn’t know what is. He wraps his arm around Sam’s waist and presses him back, trapping his erection between them as he keeps working Sam’s. Long strokes from base to tip and back, over and over, keeping the same slow pace, not speeding up until he can feel Sam starting to tremble in his arms, crying for release, threatening pain and murder as his toes curl into the sheets. Dean tightens his grip and pumps, double pace and Sam comes, spilling hot over Dean’s hand, hissing profanities through clenched teeth and it’s the most beautiful thing Dean’s ever heard in his life. He can’t help himself, he needs to taste the sounds coming out of his brother so he kisses them right out of him, sucks them out of his mouth and into his own. His own release ripped out of him the second Sam’s tongue finds its way between his lips and Dean just opens up and cries his orgasm straight down Sam’s throat.

Their come a cooling mess on their bodies but they are still kissing, still moving together and Dean thinks he might be crying but he’s not sure. He’s not sure of anything anymore, only Sam, always Sam. Sam is talking, whispering and mumbling between kisses, promising things he’s got no business promising but Dean doesn’t care because he wants to believe him. Then Sam says

-I want… I’ve wanted for so long… when my hands get better… He leans in and whispers his secret in Dean’s ear  
-…will you fuck me in the back of the car?

It’s almost enough to have Dean coming again and he squeezes his eyes shut and hides his face in Sam’s hair, nodding.

-Yeah… anything you want Sam, anything.

-Are there gonna be any more other guys? Sam asks with feigned innocence. 

-No, no there won’t, not ever.

-What about women?

-Don’t push it baby boy. Dean says but he’s smiling, he can’t help himself and somehow he doubts that there will be. Somehow he knows that from that moment in the shower over a week ago he lost control of this whole thing. It slipped straight out of his hands and into Sam’s broken ones and somehow, Dean thinks, that’s just as it should be.


End file.
